


Trust

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: M/M, Surgery, Trust Kink, Vivisection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stein can’t think or do anything, just stays where he is and watches the inevitable realization approach the both of them, a devastating collision that Spirit doesn’t even know is on the way.” Spirit wakes up in the middle of one of Stein’s experiments. He does not react as Stein expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust

Stein is entirely caught up in his work when Spirit shifts. The meister is usually very perceptive, but in the moment he is so focused and the movement so entirely unexpected that he doesn’t notice that his weapon is coming to until Spirit makes a sound in the back of his throat.

The shock hits first. Stein freezes where he is, motionless like if he doesn’t admit time is still functioning maybe the rest of the world will be fooled too. Then he looks sideways, hoping that maybe Spirit’s not entirely conscious yet, that he can administer additional emergency anesthetic to knock the other man back into blackness and buy himself time to cover the evidence. He has no such luck. Spirit is blinking his eyes open as Stein turns to him, and while the drugs currently in his system are washing the blue cloudy and distracted he is alert enough to focus on Stein’s face, to start smiling in spite of the confusion on his features.

“Stein,” he slurs, making a face as the sound comes out slow and too long. “What’re doing?” He is reaching up before Stein can think to stop him; the meister can’t very well grab his wrist, not when he’s wearing gloves currently coated red with his weapon’s blood. Then Spirit’s hand is against his stomach, trailing through the color with no comprehension on his face. Stein  _knows_  he can’t feel the incision; by rights the weapon ought to be out cold, and if the painkillers had stopped working like the anesthesia apparently has he would be screaming.

Spirit’s smile is gone, replaced by a crinkle of confusion across his forehead as he attempts to focus in his drug-clouded gaze, and Stein can’t think or do anything, just stays where he is and watches the inevitable realization approach the both of them, a devastating collision that Spirit doesn’t even know is on the way.

The weapon starts to repeat himself. “What --” Then he brings his hand up where he can see it, and the confusion vanishes from his face. His eyes go wide with panic, he takes a frightened breath, and shoves up on his elbows so fast Stein has to take a half-step back and out of the way, and then it’s all laid out for him. Even with all the evidence spread out it takes a minute for Spirit to process the scene. Stein watches the weapon’s eyes instead of looking himself -- he knows what Spirit’s seeing, the clean cuts across his stomach and up into his chest, the inevitable blood somewhat contained but still coating Spirit’s skin and the operating table itself. Understanding starts to form as the scythe sees the scalpels on the tray and settles into full clarity when his eyes hit Stein’s bloody hands.

Stein can’t talk. He doesn’t know what he would say. It is  _exactly_  what it looks like, after all, any denial would be futile and an obvious lie as soon as he tried to form the words. He just waits, lets the horror sink into Spirit’s face, and when those blue eyes come up to his face desperate for an explanation he lets his own lack of expression stand as the entire lack of one he has.

Spirit swallows hard. His eyes are wide and terrified; Stein has never seen him look so scared before, not during their first ever assignment, not when they faced down the Star Clan, not when they almost died trying to collect the witch soul to make Spirit a Death Scythe. Of course that was just fear for his life -- this is a betrayal from Stein, the person closest to him since Spirit started at the Academy. The implications are hitting now, too, Stein can see Spirit lean back just slightly as the scythe considers the possibilities, the timeline, the historical backdating visible over his face as it occurs in his head.

Stein can’t let Spirit leave, not the way he is right now. At the very least the meister needs to close up the incisions he has made or Spirit will bleed out before he can ever make it to...whoever he would go to for help. In light of that he’s prepared to stop Spirit however necessary, with a word or a hit or a Soul Force, as soon as the weapon makes a move to run.

Something changes in Spirit’s face. He shuts his eyes, breathes in shakily, and when he looks back up the agonized terror in his eyes is gone. The painkillers are still leaving a haze over the color but they are focused on Stein’s face now, wide and strangely emotionless. He doesn’t look away as he shifts his weight, doesn’t blink as he lies back flat on the table.

Stein stays still for a moment. It’s not terror this time that locks him in place but disbelief. He recognized the expression on Spirit’s face, has seen that expression in the back of his head when they Resonate. That was  _trust_  behind the blue. With evidence of Stein’s experiments literally spread out in front of him and his own blood on his fingers and all over the meister’s hands, Spirit --

Stein takes a shocked breath. It sounds a little like a sob, catching jagged against a knot in his throat, and he’s not sure he  _can_  keep going, judging from the way his hands are trembling when he tries to lift them.

“Stein.” Spirit’s voice is shaking like Stein’s hands but it’s understandable anyway, and Stein can’t refuse Spirit anything at the moment. He steps forward to look down at his weapon.

Spirit doesn’t smile. His eyes are as clear as he can manage under the circumstances, though, and they are  _still_  fixed on Stein’s face with the trust that Stein knows all through his blood and bones he doesn’t deserve. Spirit raises his hand to reach for Stein’s hair, and when he curls his fingers behind the meister’s head Stein comes down without resisting at all. Spirit’s hands are shaking worse than Stein’s, and Stein’s hair is catching on the sticky drying blood on Spirit’s fingers, but the meister is watching Spirit’s eyes and can’t think about anything else properly.

Spirit pulls him in close, closer than Stein expects and then closer still, until their noses bump together. Then he shuts his eyes -- Stein can see the flutter of Spirit’s eyelashes as his eyelids close and he can’t catch his breath, can feel his forehead crease as he flinches from the intimacy of the detail like he’s in pain.

Spirit swallows, and when he speaks Stein can feel the miniscule exhales on each word against his own lips. “Leave me awake next time.” It sounds like an order until he forces a smile Stein can feel. “Okay?”

Stein has to swallow to get enough moisture in his mouth to speak. “Okay.” He sounds hoarse, like he’s been screaming or drowning. Spirit nods, and lets him go, and Stein pulls away and stumbles backward until he can lean against the wall.

With Spirit’s eyes fixed on him, wide with fright and bright with trust, it’s several minutes before Stein can calm the adrenaline in his veins enough to go on.


End file.
